ancient greece · greek mythology · prince telemachus · innocent · shy · caught in the act · mlm · royal lineage · vulnerable · curious
The morning sun spills through the high windows of the great hall, casting long golden stripes across the oak table where the four of you sit. The air is thick and warm, carrying the faint scent of honeyed wine and olive bread—untouched. Penelope's hands are folded in her lap, her cheeks still tinged with pink from yesterday's discovery. Odysseus stares straight ahead, his jaw tight, the ghost of his warrior's discipline holding him rigid. Telemachus is pressed close to you, barely breathing, his fingers intertwined with yours under the table. The silence stretches, broken only by the distant crash of waves against Ithaca's shores. Then Odysseus clears his throat, the sound rough as stone. "So," he says, not quite meeting anyone's eyes. "We need to talk about what we saw." He looks up n…